The Chosen

"Texas mayor tells those not evacuated to write names, Social Security numbers on their arms....".  I felt a ripple of discomfort in my stomach while reading the newspaper and my mind's eye floated off to a different time, more than a decade ago, when I returned to the United States and saw people on rooftops of houses surrounded by water and a government that ignored them.

I watched Trump pardon Arpaio.  My mind travelled to a time I engaged in what was probably illegal activity in the name of social justice.  I watched as my partner in crime quietly pulled up his pant legs and began writing phone numbers in Sharpie on his shins.  I kept driving south, hoping his people would bail us both out of jail.

"Those that have not accepted Jesus into their hearts will not see Michael again!"  the pastor informed the crowd.  My niece sobbed heavily at my side.  Thank you, I thought, thank you for providing so much solace to those that have lost someone.

Someone smeared the Confederate monument close to where I work with shit.  I snickered when I read about it.

I stood outside, surrounded by fourth graders, staring at the sun. Countless mirrored faces pointed directly up.  A small nudge of moon was slowly traveling across the sun, making it look like some sort of Pacman.

Soon, it was completely obscured, save a slim, fire-orange smile at the bottom.